Flight Mode
by Bal3xicon
Summary: Brittana AU. Santana Lopez is traveling for a work related meeting on Christmas day, but an unexpected encounter turns the trip from business to pleasure. One-shot.


**Brittana AU**

**This is a little something I wrote mostly between two plane trips late last year and didn't ever get around to posting. I thought about it again when I made those same two trips again this year. **

* * *

**Flight Mode**

The sun snaked in from the left during take-off. As the plane tilted sideways, light reflections from the rounded windows appeared to drip down between those on the right. I like that every flight I take is different somehow. Pilot, weather, and time of day determine the way it will all play out. It's comforting to be a part of something which is out of my control. I don't have to worry when I fly. I have no responsibilities.

It was steep ascent, heads back against the rests, and people frantically chewed gum because their mothers had always told them it was best. While everyone around me clawed at the arms of their seats, the skin over their knuckles stretched to bursting, and white, I leaned down to grab my book from my bag. When the plane leveled out, the woman beside me let out a long breath, hand on her chest. Thank fuck for that, she said. She was old, maybe 65. Too old to be using the word fuck in public. It didn't suit her. I pretended I hadn't heard.

Half an hour

90 minutes

6 hours and 35 minutes

I enjoy travelling

I much prefer travelling alone. I like not having to summon my people skills for a few hours. I like to read. Even a December 25th flight was something to look forward to. When I woke up I made the obligatory phone calls to friends and family. I had phoned my grandmother and sent my parents a message, careful to do the math right first. It was 6:30am in New York when my alarm woke me.

Add 4  
10:30  
Change am to pm  
10:30pm

Most times when I've messaged them over the last fortnight they've been a day ahead. We only shared days now in the early hours of my morning and the late of their night. Australia, man. _Merry home-time Xmas_, I typed with my thumb while I stirred sugar into my coffee. It was a three sugar morning yesterday. We were all on Christmas Day, but they had been celebrating close to 16 hours longer than I had. That's if you could call a half dozen phone calls and three text messages celebrating at all.

There is more than 16 hours difference between us.

A brand new destination every year and a different holiday missed. Last year they had missed Easter for Italy. Thanksgiving for Cambodia the one before. I mean, good on them, right? But why anyone would want a warm Christmas is beyond me. They wear shades and wide brimmed hats and send me pictures of themselves with beaches in the background. I can smell the sunscreen and turn my nose up at each photo. Their posed smiles make them strangers anyway. Nobody dreams of a Christmas in 102 degree heat.

We'd been in their air just over an hour and I had spied her checking overhead compartments and checking on passengers. She nearly collected me with the drinks cart as I leaned too far into the aisle. I found out later that her name was Brittany. I looked twice at the badge attached to her uniform, pinned just above her left breast. I memorized the spelling and maybe stole a third glance. It's important to be thorough.

Brittany.

I liked the way it looked. Her name could have been Mary-Lou or Sally-Anne and I still would've liked it. And I have a strong dislike of hyphens.

My brother and his wife decided not to travel home for Christmas this year with our parents away. His attitude had become habit. No Easter last year, no Thanksgiving the one before. But I always called. I phoned him after my second coffee, when the gravity of sleep had dissipated and my body felt even again. He sounded tired and bored by the notion of speaking to me if we weren't seeing each other. When we were kids and he'd done the wrong thing he would apologize through gritted teeth, the syllables blurring together. I could hear him trying to resist pressing his teeth together now. Our relationship existed for our parents' sake. They couldn't see us talking on the phone. He ended the call with a forced merry before the Christmas and I checked the clock for confirmation: it was five minutes worth of energy I would never get back.

When the opportunity to completely bypass Lima arose, I told Grant to book me any seat on any flight out of NYC. He needed someone in Los Angeles for a consult Friday morning. He needed another in Michigan. I insisted on the long flight. Leaving when I did meant I would arrive in LA just after 10pm New York Time. I enjoy time zone fuckery when I'm gaining hours. It is not quite as helpful in the reverse. Taking the LA consult also meant Fabray got to have Christmas day with her girlfriend. I pretended I was doing her a favor. I let her say she owes me.

* * *

When I stepped through the forward door of the plane, she had been there glancing at everyone's tickets, indicating left or right as the seating arrangements required. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail. Not a single strand of hair was out of place. This was fact and not a cliché. I appreciate airline staff. I crave high standards. I enjoy uniformity. I handed her my ticket as I tried to squeeze past her and she grabbed my shoulder, just enough pressure to gain my attention. I fly all the time. My cheeks burned at my mistake. Its always just a glance.

You're on the aisle, halfway up on the right, she said. You need to keep hold of this, Ma'am.

Ma'am. I was sure she was only my age, perhaps a year or two younger. I supposed it was better than Miss. And I absolutely never check in under Doctor. I make sure it never appears on my ticket. You don't want anyone to know you're a doctor if something goes awry on a flight. Nobody expects a baseballer to play without a bat, but put a surgeon in an aluminium tunnel and give her a plastic knife and suddenly she's supposed save lives in the least sterile environment on earth. People get staph infections just by leaving a scratch uncovered. I'm not MacGyver. I do brilliant things with the right equipment, sure. But I don't perform miracles.

I watched her wheel the meal cart down to the front of the plane. I wanted her to pass me again and I wanted her to say Ma'am. I would have been fine with Miss as well. Miss Lopez. I just wanted to hear her voice. She worked the flight like an actress. She knew her lines by heart and delivered each with a smile I believed. The other passengers believed it too. Each one looked like they'd paid the ticket price just to see her.

From my seat I could see her crouch beside an elderly woman and place her hand on the woman's leg. That take off was the roughest I've seen in a while, she said. I bet you've seen a few, she said. The woman smiled. I smiled. Brittany's voice sing-songed with familiarity. It was like answering the phone in a hurry, expecting the call to be work related and hearing the hello of an old friend. She was that kind of familiar. I didn't want to be her friend.

She wore that uniform well. I had committed the lines of the fabric to memory. The dress barely trespassed over mid-thigh. Regulation length was surely an inch or so longer. A thin belt around her middle emphasized her narrow waist. She was slim. Not skinny. There's a difference.

She looked perfect. The angles of her feet in her standard issue heels showed off each muscle in those legs. While passing out meals and snacks to passengers, she threw in the occasional wink as though they'd shared a joke. Even at the time I knew it was unreasonable for me to feel jealousy towards these people. Absurd, perhaps. And also entirely true. Even if it was just an act.

The woman on my left, hand on heart at take-off, had begun snoring a mere fraction into our Christmas afternoon flight. The page of my book was dog-eared from two nights prior. So far on the flight I'd read the same sentence a bunch of times. I was struggling to make any connections between the words. The distraction of winks and legs and smiles had me stuck on the first paragraph, a half dozen pages into Chapter 3. I couldn't give you a synopsis to save my life.

Where was her base when she wasn't in transit? I counted the headrests in front of me. Six more rows until her cart would be beside my seat again. As she approached, I lowered my tray table and reopened my book. I smoothed the creased page with my hand, half expecting to feel the words raised against my fingers. My eyes scanned them again but I didn't take in a single one.

She arrived sooner than I expected. I hadn't rehearsed my lines. I had no idea how the scene would play out. I like to be prepared.

Brittany.

My eyes were trained to her breasts. This is the only logical place to display a name badge, though. If she were a man, this would not have been a problem.

If she were a man this would not have been a problem.

I'd really like to buy you a drink, she said. She winked differently than she had three seats ago. Was she just being cheeky?

The drinks are free, I said. I responded with logic but cursed my tone immediately. I had no intention of appearing rude. I wasn't aiming for smart ass. I wasn't aiming for nonchalance. I hadn't thought far enough ahead to have any aim at all; and yet somehow I wanted to be whatever she was hoping I would be.

She slid a plate of food onto my tray and held up two different beverages. A wink and one of those smiles. I'm not sure how many seconds passed between my jaw dropping and needing to make a conscious decision to close my mouth again. I pointed to the Lemonade. I never drink Lemonade. She poured it into a small plastic cup and set it down before me. I don't mean this one, she said.

The cart moved on and I stared at the plate in front of me, willing myself not to turn around and watch her continue towards the back of the plane. Her words had been light and laced with a happy I knew I'd struggle to maintain, even if I was being paid to do so.

I leaned into the arm rest and pretended to look ahead before craning my neck all around. A man across the aisle from me, one row behind, followed my line of sight. When I saw his head turning in my periphery I looked up and met his gaze. He raised his eyebrows and I turned quickly to face the back of the seat in front of me. I waited as the heat drained from my neck and cheeks.

* * *

She didn't pass by me again.

What do flight attendants do that we don't see? Why was she working on Christmas? Had she drawn the short straw or raised her hand as I had? I didn't need to be invited to Kurt and Adam's orphan party, the one they held for all their friends who would be on their own otherwise. Rachel had made the trip back home, and Morgan and Sophia had invited me to spend the day with them. I declined. They'd try to set me up with Morgan's sister again. In all fairness, she was beautiful. Hair similar to mine and skin the very opposite. She had an armful of tattoos and an engineering degree, but I'd always preferred blondes. Just give it a go, they'd both say. She's good in bed, Sophia would whisper when Morgan was out of earshot.

You were, too, that one time, I said. There were a few things Morgan didn't need to know.

If Brittany lived in LA, did she have someone waiting for her at home? What if someone was waiting for her, but home was somewhere else? Maybe I was her Los Angeles distraction. Perhaps she used that line once per flight.

I'd really like to buy you a drink.

I doubted it.

I reached the end of the page I was on and went to turn to the next, but gave up and folded the page corner again making the crease a permanent feature of the book. I had slipped Grant's notes in behind my laptop for safe keeping. I knew the procedures inside out, but his notes were my safety net. I'm hardly superstitious, but even when I memorize a speech, I still like to take palm cards. Safety nets are important. Fabray's notes would be well annotated, the pages dog eared like my book. Everyone is different.

With a half hour to go before landing, Brittany and another attendant wheeled the cart back through the plane to collect unwanted items. When she snatched up my napkin and slipped another into my hand just as quickly, I barely had time to register the way her fingers slipped between mine. She continued past. I felt my stomach flip. Those fingers slipped elsewhere in my mind and gripped the napkin tighter. I didn't dare to look at it while she was close enough to see me.

When the pilot announced we were about to begin our descent. I laughed again at death grips on armrests and the frantic search for gum. The woman beside me awoke with a start. All gummy mouthed and gasping, her lips and tongue dry from nearly six hours spent with her mouth agape. I've slept the whole fucking time, she said. I nodded without making eye contact. Fucking didn't suit her either.

While everyone prayed to their god of choice for a safe landing, I unfolded the napkin. Certain that Brittany would also be required to be seated with her lap belt secured low and tight, I turned it over in my hand. I've watched enough movies and read enough books to assume she'd given me her number. My palm was sweating against it. What interested me was how she'd write it. Her scrawl made me smile and the small tear where her pen had caught on the tissue amused me. If that had happened to me, I would have started again. She wrote three lines.

Not all drinks are free.

Call me.

Her number.

As the plane angled downward and people pressed their feet firmly to the floor, as though they were able to assist the pilot in pressing on the breaks, I smiled. I liked that she dealt in facts. I was turned on by how direct she was. I wanted to tell her so. That could be one of my lines.

We all survived the landing.

* * *

The arrivals gate was close to empty. I'd expected it to be teaming but those who wanted to be home for Christmas had been greeted hours before.

I didn't know when to call.

Ordinarily when someone would give me their number I'd wait a day or so. Since things ended with Fabray, I've barely dated. Workplace romances are amazing while they last and toxic when they're over. That one cost me my apartment and nearly lost me my job. That was more than 18 months ago now. Grant's couch was uncomfortable. My parents were in Italy. I'm far more cautious now.

I've ignored numbers altogether. Largely they're not worth the hassle. When something starts out, a girl might be impressed by titles and credentials, and then pissed off when my hours are out of sync with their libido. If you want easy pick a pretty girl who works at the market by my place. They're all pretty there. A prerequisite. Early to mid 20's and they all get off at 6pm. Now that's convenience. If you want easy write your number on the change receipt she hands you. She could be in your bed by 7.

I'm not easy.

I had only carry-on and bypassed most of the other passengers. My phone vibrated in my pocket. A message from my mother. _I think I have the time right_, she wrote. _Hope you arrived safely._

I imagine she did two sets of math to reach her conclusion.

I hesitated at the exit.

Those legs and that voice made quite a compelling case. So did her smile. If anyone was watching me, my indecision would have been obvious. Nobody would have been watching me. I kept walking and passed through the automatic sliding doors.

Autopilot  
I took a cab to my hotel  
Paid the driver  
Checked in at the front desk

Standing in the elevator I stared at my own reflection. Of course she would want to buy me a drink. In the right light I could look like anyone's worst missed opportunity. In the early morning I looked like everyone else. Worn and near another decade added to my age.

I swiped the key card three times before the light turned green. I was calling her number before I set my purse and suitcase down on the bed. Each ring raised my heart rate another notch. Again I hadn't planned my lines. No palm cards, no script.

She answered with her name. That sing-songed intonation on only one word. Brittany. Another statement of fact. I liked it. I should have just replied with Santana.

Hi Brittany, you gave me your number on the plane. This is Santana Lopez.

Miss Lopez, she said. Her tone was lower now. Her after hours voice found its way through me faster than her attendant voice. I'm glad you called, she said.

How long are you in town, I asked.

I leave tomorrow afternoon.

Me too, I said. She was staying close by the airport and I gave her the address of my hotel, asked her to meet me at the bar downstairs in an hour. I could hear a smile in her voice when she agreed and I wanted to taste it. Presumptuous, maybe. Sometimes a drink is just a drink.

I thought about those legs again and hoped otherwise.

* * *

When she walked in, I knew straight away it would be more than just a drink.

The disappointment of not seeing her in her uniform rose quickly but dissipated just as fast. I'm really glad you called, she said.

So am I. I couldn't keep the lust out of my voice.

She asked me what I'd like to drink.

Surprise me, I said.

She returned from the bar moments later, purse tucked under her arm, and set two drinks down on the table. Merry Christmas, she said. She sat opposite me, body turned slightly, those legs crossed and peeking out from the side of the table. I didn't care about what we were drinking. I cared about the fact that her hair was draped over her left shoulder, her finger rimming the glass between sips. I found myself avoiding her gaze each time she let a half smile reach her eyes.

We made small talk about our jobs. I tried to keep it to a minimum. I'd flown on enough planes and she'd seen enough episodes of Grey's Anatomy for us to know how those parts of each other's lives looked. I wanted to know what she did when she had a day off and it was raining outside. I wanted to know if there were any books she'd read more than twice. She asked me if I'd ever been to see a movie by myself. She wanted to know whether I considered aqua to be a shade of blue or a shade of green. The obscure kept us going throughout our second drink.

Now I know why I remember you, she said.

I stilled the straw I had been swirling my drink with and looked at her.

I would have remembered if we'd met before, I said. I studied her face like I hadn't already been doing so for the past half hour and tried to match it with any of my memories.

We haven't met before, but we competed against each other. High school, she said. Several times. Cheerleading. Over a decade ago now. I don't expect you to remember me, three-quarters of us were blonde, she said.

She spoke slowly, like any more pace or volume might startle me. I squinted. I wracked my brain, but I couldn't find her there.

I didn't mean to freak you out, she said. She twirled the straw in her own drink, looking away from me for the first time all night.

I reached out a hand and touched her. She looked up and smiled. My eyes were magnetized to hers.

I'm usually pretty articulate, but she had me speechless like it was high school all over again and I'd been watching her from across the sports field. I pictured her in a small pleated skirt. Red, white and black because that was the best of cheerleading in my mind. I allowed my eyes to scan shamelessly then. A little more alcohol. Her fingers between mine. We both knew where this was going and I had to ask why a flight attendant would pack a dress like that with only one night spare in a different city.

You were going out tonight regardless, I stated this as I shifted on my chair and reached up to toy with the strap on her dress.

I was meant to meet a friend, she said. I cancelled when you called. I'm meeting her in the morning.

I have a meeting in the morning. Early.

We should make sure you get some sleep then.

If you weren't here, I'd probably be in bed by now, I said. Goose pimples rose to the surface of her skin under my touch. It's past midnight at home right now, I said.

New York is home, she asked as she uncrossed her legs and moved a little closer before crossing them the opposite way. That dress was much shorter than airline regulation.

Yes, I said. And where is home for you?

She smiled and bit her lower lip. New York.

* * *

She kissed me, first, in the elevator. Softly, considering the time of night and the alcohol on her breath. I half expected my back to be pressed against the mirrored glass and her actions to be desperate. She wrapped her hands around my waist slowly as I tried to remember which floor I was on.

I pressed 7

Doors closed

Lips at my neck

When I turned, one hand remained at the small of my back while the other traveled upward and cupped my cheek. Those eyes were stating facts all on their own then. I tried to hold her gaze as she came closer. The fingers along my jawline stole away my self-control and my eyes were closed before I even felt her lips on mine.

My key card worked the first time. The heels she wore were higher than airline regulation and I was grateful when she was peeling off my dress and pushing me toward the bed. She unzipped my boots and her own dress, urging me back before it had the chance to meet the ground.

I was intimidated by how well her hands knew their way around my body. I felt jealous of every one she'd ever touched. Other people felt her fingers experiment before they were sure. Other people taught her how to pace herself.

You okay, she asked. Breathless, lips apart from mine for only the second time since the elevator.

I nodded.

She trailed a single finger from my hip bone to my ribs and smiled into my mouth as she felt my body curl into hers. I felt that sensation everywhere. I always do. She couldn't have known that. Those other girls had nothing to do with that. She did it again.

She knows it now.

Straddling my thighs she pulled me up toward her, unclasping my bra and dragging the straps down my arms. She removed her own before lying back down on top of me. Her gasp met my moan before those lips trekked down my body.

She slipped a thigh between mine and dragged herself against my leg. Slowly. Repeatedly. Her fingers toyed with the waist band of my panties, the muscles of my stomach tightening against her touch. Off, I said. She repeated this with a smile as she moved aside to drag them down my legs and my hands were dragging hers off before she had a chance to settle between my thighs.

Each time her tongue touched mine she would roll her hips against me. A hand found its way underneath my ass and her fingers tickled the sensitive flesh at the inside of my thigh. They were dangerously close now. I raised my hips into her, moaning as I felt her move her hand away, louder still when it stalked back across my hip and up towards my breasts.

Bringing it back down slowly she flattened her hand out, palm pressed firmly against me, long fingers splayed across my abdomen. She stilled the motion of her hips and pulled away from our kiss to look at me. Can I touch you, she asked. Her voice was almost pleading and I didn't trust my own to serve me if I tried to speak. Eyebrows knitted together, I nodded and placed my hand against hers, encouraging her lower.

Fuck. I hoped she didn't mind the sound of the word falling from my lips. Her touch was careful and her eyes were on mine, all the while, seeking permission to continue. I reached my hand down and pressed her to me and she hesitated for only a moment before I felt her move inside me.

I pulled her against me, one hand pressed to her back and the other pushing at her elbow as I felt the muscles in her arm tense with every thrust. I arched my neck to feel her lips at me again. Her mouth and the alcohol had my head spinning.

Santana.

The sound of my name pulled me back from falling. She was moving away from my body, maintaining her rhythm, creating space between us.

Touch me. Nothing about that was a question and I slipped my hand between us and felt her wet against my fingers. With me inside her the bed rocked in time with her hips. Her skin grazed mine with every downward movement and the sensation of her tightening around my fingers made every nerve take notice.

If we'd met at eighteen she wouldn't have had my body humming the way it was. She played me like she'd practiced. I was thankful for those other girls.

Fuck

Fuck

Fuck.

I knew she liked the sound of that now. She smiled into my lips and rolled her body against mine. I felt myself being pulled apart beneath her and felt it again when she swapped fuck for Jesus and breathed it against my mouth as she came.

* * *

I don't remember falling asleep. I don't remember the last time I felt so calm waking up next to someone I'd only just met.

You're still here, she said.

I laughed. This is my hotel room.

Her hands and eyes told me she wanted a re-enactment of the night before. The alarm clock by the bed told me I'd had about three hours sleep and if I didn't leave in half an hour I'd be late for my meeting. I've never been late to a meeting.

I showered alone, despite her best efforts to convince me otherwise, and threw last night's clothes into my suitcase. She stopped me by the door.

What time is your flight, she asked.

One forty-five.

Her smile overtook her face and she rocked up onto the balls of her feet as she clapped her hands together. Adorable.

So I'll see you this afternoon. She had answered my question with her smile.

She nodded and placed a hand against the door to prevent me from opening it any further. My back was hard up against the wood. That kiss was nothing like the first. It was commanding my attention. It was asking me to keep her at the forefront of my mind all day. There would be no doubt of that.

All day I wavered. I presented two options to the surgical team and wished for Quinn Fabray standard notes in the margins. I was confident. I was professional. They wouldn't have been able to fault me. But I could fault me. Sometimes it happened on purpose. Sometimes it was purely accidental. Each time I felt my eyes close ever so briefly and my body reacting as if in her presence or feeling her touch.

I could still taste her smile against my lips.

* * *

I arrived at the airport with only a fraction of time to spare. The woman at the check in counter was wearing the same uniform as Brittany. She didn't make it look nearly as appealing. I decided that next time I want her in uniform. Her kiss before I left this morning told me there would be a next time. Her excitement at the news we'd be on the same flight made me smile. I scanned the crowd subconsciously as the woman handed back my ticket and pointed me in the direction of the gate.

I took up the only available seat in the departure lounge. It would be a crowded flight. I felt around in my bag for my book. I liked having one with me. It would likely go unread again on this flight.

When I spotted the first crew member, my heart rate quickened. I was embarrassed by my own reaction. Two pilots and four attendants, the last of which was looking around the lounge wide eyed. I smiled. My expression became a smirk in the split second before she spotted me and I allowed my eyes to trail from her ankles to her lips.

I'd already memorized each curve.

She stopped in her tracks, the rest of the crew far ahead of her, and made a show of checking for something in the low zip section of her small suitcase. I raked my eyes up those legs and allowed my gaze to linger on her ass. This was exactly what she wanted. I gasped when she half pulled out a pair black panties and shot me a wink before shoving them back inside her bag. The napkin in her hand dropped to the floor and I watched her walk a few steps before I stood to retrieve it.

When I looked up she had disappeared along the corridor. I heard the sound of my flight number being called and was surrounded by bodies crowding, unable to form a single queue. I stood and worked my way to the back allowing other passengers to step in ahead of me. I unfolded the napkin to see three lines in her scrawl, blue ink and a small tear in the tissue once again.

I hope you don't have plans for Wednesday night.

I want you to be part of mine.

Call me.

The crowd dissipated and we made our way past the ticket scanner and down the corridor. Somehow a couple had ended up behind me and I set down my bags as if to look for something, allowing them to pass. I wanted to be last. I was going to need a thorough explanation of where my seat was this time. Perhaps I'd need help with my bags. Brittany was taller. She would have no trouble reaching the overhead compartment. I'd have no trouble watching her do it.

Miss Lopez, welcome back. It's great to have you flying with us again, she said. She took the ticket from my hand. I felt my face flush as her skin brushed mine on purpose. I felt her in all the places I had felt her last night.

Half way up on the left, Miss Lopez, she said. If I recall correctly you were on the right yesterday.

I nodded. I was lost for words in front of her once more and made to walk off when I felt her arm link through mine and pull me back. Wednesday night then, she asked.

I felt her breasts pressing at my shoulders. My hand brushed against her thigh and she closed her eyes and sighed. She felt me everywhere too.

I glanced toward the rest of the passengers, relieved to see them still stepping around each other in the aisle and wrestling to fit bags and over-sized jackets into the luggage compartments above their seats. Nobody would have been watching us.

Wednesday night, absolutely, I said. And tonight, if you're lucky.

Her mouth opened and closed again without a single word. I mentally dusted off my hands and grabbed the ticket still clasped in hers.

* * *

The flight felt twice as long as the first. I pressed myself down against the seat several times, trying to ease the ache between my thighs. I was grateful to be surrounded by sleeping passengers once again. I didn't remove my book from my bag once. I paid extra attention to the safety demonstration, and I took my time choosing a drink from the cart when she wheeled it by me. I was the last to leave the flight, allowing everyone else to pass first.

I lingered by the baggage claim, unsure about calling so soon. I turned my phone over and over in my hand and started to head towards the exit. I felt her beside me in the split second before her hand reached my shoulder.

Have you got somewhere to be, I asked. Every glance and subtle touch from the plane was buzzing inside me. I needed her again.

Your place or mine, she asked. It was a line of course, but a welcome one. Her smirk reached her eyes and I gripped the handle of my case tighter, trying not to kiss her.

She insisted we both keep our bags on the back seat of the cab. She sat in the middle and pulled me in beside her. She grabbed her phone from the pocket of her bag and pressed the home screen to check the clock. She removed her watch and adjusted forward. I never wear a watch.

Its frustrating losing time on the way back, I said.

You're going to be losing a whole bunch of time tonight, she said. She glanced up from her phone and threw me a wink before unlocking it and going to her phone settings.

Flight mode

I frowned, my smile growing along with hers as she tucked her phone into her bag and placed a hand above my knee.

My eyes closed as her hand moved.

I don't want to be disturbed tonight, she said.


End file.
